


War Changes Men

by Creed Cascade (creedcascade)



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Transformation, Bonding, Claiming, M/M, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Shapeshifting, Soldiers, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:11:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creedcascade/pseuds/Creed%20Cascade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vietnam War was a changing point for humanity in a way no one could have expected. Myron becomes part of something he never wanted, or expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Changes Men

War changes men. It has been said that it strips them of their humanity. When they sent a generation of young men into the jungle to die, they never would have guessed the ramifications it had for all of humanity.

Buried deep in our genes are forgotten relics that have long been relegated to urban legend. Being in the jungle, fighting for survival, these genes from our past reasserted themselves amongst some soldiers.

The first documented case of the reversion was a soldier whose entire platoon was massacred. He was thought dead until he was found deep in enemy territory by a raiding party. The man was naked and confused. They assumed he was an escaped POW. That was until the private shifted into a wolf in front of the entire platoon of his rescuers. If he had been the only one undoubtedly he would have been locked away in a military installation to be studied, but he was only the first.

The soldiers called them werewolves even though they were not the monsters from B movies. They were men, boys really, who somehow found they had the power to transform into wolves. If they didn’t kill themselves after the shock from the first turn, they quickly learned to control it. The full moon had no effect on them. In animal form they retained their human intelligence. Any bullet, not just a silver bullet, would kill them. They were gifted with quicker healing and enhanced senses in their human form.

You didn’t get it from a bite. It was a part of your genetic make up. There was no blood test to determine who would revert. It could happen the first time a soldier was sent to hump through the bush or anytime throughout his tour. At first the military brass immediately pulled them out and segregated them in a secure facility. But an interesting phenomenon soon stopped that practice. The men who shifted began to die when locked away from the environment that brought about their change. And those new soldiers who changed in the field were protected by their brothers. Their secrets were kept hidden from Command as long as possible because the men realized their chances of survival increased with a werewolf by their side. Some called them a good luck charm as the units with werewolves had fewer deaths and injured. They scared the shit out of the enemy more than any ace of spades card stuck in a helmet could.

But the werewolves had an unconscious imperative of their own. As much as they might want to stay by the side of their brothers, they were drawn to their own kind. They were compelled to make a pack.

Their secret was already out. The war wasn’t going to end and the military couldn’t stretch its already limited resources in fighting their own men. So the werewolves were allowed a certain amount of freedom and segregated to their own teams. But it didn’t come without a price. Once a soldier turned into a werewolf, there was no escaping Vietnam. It was seen as almost a life sentence either way. Their kind weren’t welcome back stateside and automatically became lifers doomed to stay in battle until the war ended. Some prayed the war would never end because they feared what the military would do with them afterwards.

As the men with this gift, or curse, tried to make a life out of a confusing situation, the military had to turn a blind eye to something else. There is nothing normal about war. In nature it was abnormal to have a population without females. Some of the soldiers with the ability found themselves compelled to find the companionship of mates.

And so begins the tale of one such pack.

++++++

Rank was fluid when it came to the pack. Men retained their military rank when they were identified as werewolves, but Brewster had learned a long time ago that the pack had its own hierarchy. It probably helped that hardly any officers higher than lieutenants went into the field. No one turned without the trigger of life and death in the harsh reality of the jungle. The chances of a fat general turning into a werewolf was slim to none.

Zeke Anderson might only be a sergeant, but he was the undisputed leader of this particular pack that was assigned to Brewster’s command. He was one of the first to have changed to a werewolf and had the respect of all of his kind. Sometimes the military tried to keep up with the politics of the pack by promoting anyone who was pack leader, but Anderson had showed a definite distaste about the idea of becoming an officer.

Brewster was thankful this pack had a strong leader and wasn’t prone to the internal conflict of other packs. Put young men together, filled with testosterone, there was bound to be trouble. Put young men together, filled with testosterone and a primal genetic throwback, and there was bound to be mayhem. But Anderson was a strong leader who kept his boys in relative line and preformed outstandingly in the field.

He considered Anderson a friend and one damn fine soldier. The man had never caused him any undue trouble… until now.

“Anderson did what?” Brewster sighed.

“He jumped on a truck and pulled a lieutenant off,” Johnson reported dutifully. He had ended up with the short straw as the one who would tell the colonel about the pack’s latest situation. Johnson scratched the back of his neck and looked down. “He sorta dragged him back to his quarters.”

There was probably a reason he hadn’t heard about the kidnapping already. All people had to do was take one look at the patch on the uniform that identified them as werewolves and their behaviour was given all sorts of liberties. People probably just turned their back on what had become known simply as “pack business.” Everything short of murder was ignored.

Even though he knew the answer was no, he still had to ask. “Did he kill the boy?”

“No, sir,” Johnson answered. “He sorta claimed him.”

“A lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I suppose it could be worse,” Brewster sighed. He opened his filing cabinet and pulled out a thick stack of paper. His life had been going too smoothly lately. “I’ll start the transfer now. When Anderson’s done with him, send him over.”

Johnson hesitated, but hedged, “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Brewster groaned and rested his forehead against his palms. He felt a headache coming on. “Was the boy stupid enough to challenge Anderson for leadership?”

“Um, no, sir.” Johnson shook his head. “He hasn’t turned yet.”

Brewster blinked and stared at Johnson. “What? I must not have heard you right…”

“No, you heard me right. The new lieutenant hasn’t turned yet. From what I could tell from his ranting and screaming… this is his first tour. He hasn’t even seen action yet.”

Brewster groaned and closed his eyes. This meant Anderson had just kidnapped a regular army officer without provocation. “I thought…”

“The Sarge can tell, sir.” Johnson knew exactly what the man was going to try to make sense of. “He can smell it. The LT is…” Johnson scrunched his nose up a bit. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long without turning.”

As far as Brewster knew the regular way of things is that men turned first and then sought out a pack if one didn’t claim them first. Some were like lone wolves, but they didn’t last long.

“This is fine. I can make this work before there are any real problems. Take him out to the bush and get him to change.” Brewster pulled out another set of paperwork, even thicker this time. “And tell him he’s already on my bad side for inflicting all of this red tape on me.”

When Johnson hesitated once again, Brewster thought it couldn’t get any worse.

“The Sarge claimed him as his mate and the new LT is fighting him.”

“Okay, so it can be worse. What’s the kid’s name?”

“Lieutenant Goldman, sir.”

Brewster dropped his pen. This was so much beyond worse. This was cruel and unusual punishment.

++++++

“I’m going to kill you!” Myron hissed as he thrashed on the cot. His arms were bound over his head, secured to the top of the cot with a belt tied around his wrists.

Zeke was calmly lounging at the end of the bed, lying over the young man’s legs to stop him from kicking. “Uh huh.”

Myron thrashed again and glared at his captor. “I’m going to gut you, strangle you with your own entrails until you beg for death.”

Myron’s glare was met with a lazy smile. Zeke’s hand settled on Myron’s thigh, just above his knee and massaged slowly. “Sure, LT.”

“Stupid mongrel,” Myron hissed at him. He wanted to rip the man apart, starting with that stupid grin. “You probably have fleas.”

“Now, now, calling me a mongrel is fighting words,” Zeke told him and patted his thigh. “You don’t really want to fight me, do you?”

That’s exactly what Myron wanted to do. His fingers worked at the confining belt, but still couldn’t seem to free himself. “Let me go and let’s see.” Instead of being angered or scared like Myron had hoped, the man looked pleased at his challenge. Myron tried to lash out with his legs again, but the large man had him pinned. “I’ll have you court martialled for this.”

“The more you fight, boy, the more I know this was the right decision.”

The matter-of-fact tone of the statement enraged Myron. Instead of fear at being at the mercy of a mongrel, he started to fight with everything he was worth. The sergeant moved quickly to impede his movements. He shifted until he was sitting over Myron, pinning him down to the bed. Myron could smell and feel him this close. He did the one thing that seemed natural at the moment. He tried to bite the sergeant.

Myron could feel the man’s deep laugh reverberate through his own chest. He tried to dislodge the hands that settled on his face, stopping him from thrashing. The big man moved even closer, pressing his forehead against Myron’s.

“That’s it, kid. You fight me all you want. Only makes the inevitable happen even quicker.”

This time Myron did bite him. He managed to arch his back up and bite the sergeant on the lips until he tasted blood. Myron expected to be hit, but it was only a moment before he felt the man kissing him. He was intent on biting him again, but somehow he ended up parting his lips. His back arched again, but not in an attempt to fight this time. This time he pressed his body against the firm one holding him down.

The kiss stopped only when there was a sharp bark by someone else in the room. “Sergeant!”

Myron saw the sergeant’s eyes flicker golden in anger. He raised his head, wanting to initiate the kiss again, not caring who else was there. Myron wanted those demon eyes focused on him.

The same voice interrupted again in a warning tone. “Sergeant, get off the boy.”

Without turning his head, Myron growled out, “This is my fight. Fuck off!”

Zeke growled low in his chest and nipped at Myron’s swollen bottom lip before sitting back. Myron was still pinned under him and when he turned his head, he saw a man in a colonel’s uniform standing close.

Zeke glared at Brewster with dangerous golden eyes. “This is pack business. Back off.”

Brewster shook his head. He had never seen Anderson like this, even in the field. The man was usually tightly in control of the animal within. He wasn’t surprised at the situation, as much as disturbed. But he had been expecting to see a frightened and confused young man. The boy under Zeke looked like he wanted to rip him apart as much as Zeke did for stopping them.

“Sergeant, you’ve gone and gotten yourself into a whole mess of trouble.”

Zeke made a chuffing sound low in his throat, eyes still golden. Anyone outside of the pack could barely understand the connection or communication between their own kind. But Brewster was smart enough to take a step back.

Brewster tried again. “Why don’t we have a civilized conversation about this? You let the boy go and we can…”

Zeke touched Myron’s face and Myron bit down on his finger, but not hard enough to draw blood. Zeke laughed darkly and shook his head. “I let him go and he’ll most likely try to kill you.”

“Sergeant… Zeke…” Brewster tried again.

“He’s different.” This close to edge, speaking often became difficult. Zeke was struggling for words. “He’s mine.”

At the claim Myron bit down on Zeke’s fingers and glared up at him. There was now a hint of gold flecks in his deep brown eyes. Zeke thought they were the most beautiful he’d seen.

Zeke couldn’t help but kiss that stubbornly set mouth again, attention dragging back to his new mate. His palms came to frame Myron’s face and he whispered to him. “If you turned out there… you would have been lost to us. Lost to the pack… lost to me.” Zeke nipped his lips again. “Not gonna let that happen. Not gonna let you go it alone even if you think that’s what you want.”

“Bastard,” Myron hissed low and long in a moan.

“Different,” Zeke repeated. “You’d have let the wolf overtake you, but I’m not gonna let that happen. You’re mine.”

Brewster had his hand on his sidearm when he heard the floor boards of the hootch creak behind him. He turned to see Zeke’s men standing in the doorway. As their leader, Zeke had called the pack to help protect against the threat. Each of the men’s eyes had turned golden, meaning they were on the edge and close to turning into wolves.

Johnson was at the front of them. “I wouldn’t advise that, sir.”

Johnson was flanked by two large wolves with golden and white coats. Brewster knew they were the Baker brothers who seemed happiest in animal form. Normally Brewster would play fetch with them or catch them rolling under the latrines, sending them back to Anderson with their tails between their legs. But now their fangs were bared in a low warning growl.

Brewster kept his hand on the butt of his sidearm. “I don’t care what you are, I won’t abide rape.”

“It’s not rape,” Zeke hissed at him. “I haven’t touched him that way yet.”

“Let me go,” Myron growled. It wasn’t a plea out of fear, but sounded deadly. Myron tried again with an edge of command to his voice, “I said, let me go!”

Zeke leaned in closer to Myron again, “If I let you go, you’ll kill him. Then they’ll put you down ‘n’ I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“I don’t like how you said yet,” Brewster told him. He wouldn’t back down since he knew what was right. “You’ve got no right to touch him unwelcomed. I don’t care what your kind…”

Myron started to thrash under Zeke in frustration and was pinned back down by Zeke’s full weight. Zeke turned and looked at his commanding officer. “I would never hurt him. He’s close to the change. We’re going to take him out so don’t try to stop us.”

Brewster felt a creepy feeling dance up his spine. He whirled around to see that the men had silently stripped off their clothes and thrown them into the corner. They had all changed into wolf form and their attention was focused on Zeke. The Goldman boy looked like he was in pain and out of control, barely restrained by Zeke.

“Trust me,” Zeke pleaded.

Slowly Brewster moved his hand away from the sidearm. “I do.”

Zeke nodded and moved quickly. He unfastened Myron’s hands from the top of the cot, but kept them tied. Even though Myron fought him, Zeke used his superior strength to throw him over his shoulder.

“He’d better be worth all the trouble, Sergeant.”

Brewster saw a flash of the man he called friend when Zeke, holding a struggling Myron, beamed at him and smacked the younger man’s ass. The boy managed to knee Zeke in the stomach and Zeke coughed with a deep laugh.

“Oh, sir, you have no idea.”

++++++

The smells and sounds of the jungle called to Zeke as he carried Myron out into the thick bush. Away from the stench of men, he felt calmer. Myron was slung over his shoulder and continued to fight. With every struggle, Zeke’s lust was ratcheted up another level. Every time Myron successfully landed a blow, even though his arms and legs were tied, it reminded Zeke that this was the right choice.

Myron was not weak. Outsiders thought that the mate to an Alpha was submissive. But they never understood. To be the mate of an Alpha, you had to be the strongest and best. This was right not only for him, but for the pack.

Taylor had taken point in the front of the pack as they pushed deeper into the bush. The rest of the pack had fanned out, keeping Zeke and Myron in the centre. Doc was the closest to them, watching him with amused eyes. Another leader might have taken it as a challenge, but Zeke just met Doc’s curious gaze with a smirk.

Myron might have wanted to scream, but he wasn’t willing to bring the enemy down on them by wanting to call the sergeant every curse known to man. He wasn’t some FNG. Somehow growling seemed to amuse Anderson. When he increased his struggles, the sergeant only laughed and smacked his ass.

“You’ll pay for that,” Myron hissed.

“I’m sure I will,” Zeke laughed and smacked him again.

Looking over Zeke’s shoulder Myron could see the wolf closest to him. The others were keeping a respectful distance, but this one was getting too close. Flicking his tongue over his incisors, Myron felt an irrational surge of jealously. Meeting the gaze of the one he knew was Doc, Myron narrowed his eyes and glared at him.

“Tell him to back off,” Myron huffed.

“Who?” Zeke asked, knowing exactly who Myron was talking about. Jealousy and possessiveness was a good sign.

“That one!” Myron snapped his blunt human teeth at Doc. Doc made a yipping sound and wagged his tail. “He’s mocking me!”

“He’s sayin’ hello.”

“He’s too close.”

“Why would you care? I thought you were gonna kill me.”

Myron tried to kick Zeke in the chest again, but it was a half hearted attempt. He was too fixated on Doc. “I am.” He could hear the ground squishing under Zeke’s boots and the lighter step of Doc’s paw. “I’ll kill him, too.” Myron’s eyes narrowed even more. “But I’ll settle for him backing off first. Tell him to stay away from you.”

Zeke resettled Myron a bit on his shoulder, looking around the jungle. The vegetation was dense and smelt wonderful. “You tell him, LT. You outrank him in the pack and in the field. First lesson you gotta learn is about pack hierarchy. I’m not gonna fight your battles for you.”

“You’d better not,” Myron snapped. He met Doc’s gaze and growled low. Doc shook his short mane and barked before looked down at the ground, lowering his tail. His gait slowed, meaning that he gave Zeke more space as he strode forward.

“If you’re not careful, I might get to thinkin’ you’re layin’ some sorta claim on me,” Zeke teased. Looking around again, this seemed like a good enough place as any. He dumped Myron down on a soft patch of grass at the foot of a tree. “Here we go.”

With an ‘omph’, Myron landed in a sprawl. His arms and legs were still bound, but he quickly rolled into a sitting position. “Where are we?”

Zeke looked down at him with his hands on his hips. “The jungle.”

“Asshole,” Myron snapped back. “Is this where you perform some sort of freaky ritual on me?”

Zeke slipped a large knife out from his kit, flipping it up, easily catching the handle. Crouching down in front of Myron, he was pleased to see that Myron didn’t flinch when he reached out, first slipping the blade through the ropes at Myron’s feet. “Nope, this is where we wait.”

“Untie my hands.”

Zeke slipped the knife back into his belt, but shook his head. He then slipped off his sleeveless t-shirt, letting it drop to the ground. “Nope. This might be friendly territory, but havin’ your feet bound in a war zone longer than necessary is just stupid.” He grinned at Myron whose gaze had slipped to stare at Zeke’s chest. “Then again, untying a hellion like you before the change is just askin’ for trouble.” Zeke crouched down, placing his hand on Myron’s knee. “So, we wait.”

Myron could feel the warmth of Zeke’s hand even through the cotton of his pants. It had never been like this before when someone touched him. “Wait for what?”

“For you to change.”

Myron pushed his knee against Zeke’s palm. “No.”

“Yes,” Zeke chuckled and rubbed Myron’s knee. “God, you’re a contrary son of a bitch.”

Myron shifted restlessly on the ground. He couldn’t see any of the other members of the pack, but he somehow knew they were out in the bush standing guard. His skin felt like it was on fire. “I won’t give into this.”

Zeke kept rubbing his knee. “Let me guess… your skin’s all jumpy. Drivin’ you nuts?”

“Yes…” Myron hissed. Somehow, he could smell Zeke even better now. He could smell the traces of face paint from his last mission with a mixture of Zeke’s sweat and traces of gun powder. Zeke’s hand was driving him crazy, with its slow motion. “Feels like it’s…” Myron’s breath hitched. Zeke’s touch was having an effect that he very much hated. His back arched as Zeke’s thumb traced his kneecap. “What’s happening to me?”

“It’s okay, LT,” Zeke murmured. “It’s just a natural part of you.”

“I’m not…” Myron couldn’t finish his thought because Zeke’s hand was slowly sliding up his thigh.

“Not one of us?” Zeke asked gently. “Not a fag? Not mine?”

The gentle challenge snapped something in Myron. His eyes were completely gold now and with his unbound feet, he kicked Zeke hard in the side. Zeke went down, rolling onto his back. Even with his bound hands, Myron managed to scramble onto Zeke until he was straddling his chest. In the process, his bound hands connected solidly just below Zeke’s right eye. Heaving a deep breath, Myron glowered down at Zeke.

Instead of seeing a look of fear like Myron wanted, Zeke looked pleased. “That’s it.”

“You don’t control me…” Myron hunched over, placing his hands on Zeke’s chest, just by his collarbones.

“I don’t,” Zeke agreed. “Wouldn’t want you if I did. If you don’t want me, though… I could just let you go since you seem so set on that. I could get Doc over here in human form…” Zeke huffed a small groan when Myron smacked his chest and scowled down at him. “Don’t like that idea? Doc can be awful sweet when he wants to be.”

“Shut up!” Myron hissed and bent down until his bound arms were holding his weight by Zeke’s shoulder and his face was only inches from the man under him. “I don’t want him near you.”

Zeke pressed his body up, rubbing against Myron. “Why?”

“You…” Myron couldn’t seem to get the thoughts straight in his head. Rationally, it made no sense why he would care what this stranger did. But the idea of Zeke touching anyone but him now enraged Myron. Closing his eyes, he gave into the impulse and quickly kissed Zeke. It only lasted a moment because Myron realized what he was doing and quickly pulled away. Breath coming quickly he stared down at Zeke, whispering, “I want.”

Zeke wanted nothing more than to untie Myron, especially now, but it was such a bad idea. Instead, a much better idea was to palm Myron’s cock through his pants.

“Oh, fuck,” Myron moaned and his weight collapsed onto Zeke. The feel of the rough cotton over his sensitised cock was too much. More than any time before, a touch from someone else felt right and overpowering. “More!”

“Yeah, kid, I’ll give you more.” Zeke’s fingers fumbled with Myron’s fly.

The blue of his own eyes had now changed to gold to match Myron’s. Myron was moaning and growling as Zeke freed his own cock. Myron ground down against Zeke and shifted so he could kiss him. Their mouths met even as they writhed together. Groins slid together and Zeke pulled Myron close. Tongues slipped together, tasting as they continued to thrust.

When Myron came, he screamed, human voice hoarse and morphing into an inhuman call of something else. Zeke held onto his, entranced as he watched Myron’s face contorted with passion. Continuing to thrust against Myron, Zeke was so close.

He wanted to tell Myron how much he already loved him. Zeke wanted to pledge devotion, protection and promise of partnership. But he could already feel his language skills slipping away as the change started to surge through his system.

“Together,” Zeke managed to growl just before he came. He screamed out, clutching and marking Myron as his mate.

In the distance, the howls of his pack rang out in chorus, welcoming Myron to their ranks. No more would their leader walk alone.

++++++

Three days later Brewster was signalled to the return of the pack in the early morning by the mixed call of howls. He’d been around their kind long enough to know to read their cries as joyous. They were not the mournful cries when the pack has lost a member. It made his sleepless nights spent on vigil almost seem worth it.

He came out of his hootch to see Zeke striding towards him with a grin on his face. The sergeant was also sporting an impressive set of bruises to match a black eye. Brewster quickly catalogued the animals that darted around Zeke. They pounced on other another, grabbing at their fur and wrestling around. Brewster was looking for the new addition to the pack.

“Mornin’, Colonel!” Zeke called out in greeting, coming to a stop in front of the hootch. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

In the flurry of mock play and scuffle, Brewster still hadn’t caught sight of Goldman in wolf form. His stomach did a little lurch, but by Zeke’s swagger, he could tell everything had gone the way he wanted.

“Good morning, Sergeant.” That’s when Brewster caught a quick flash of white and his breath caught. Glaring at him from behind Zeke’s legs was a white wolf with brown eyes flecked with gold. It was a striking animal that carried every bit of intelligence and passion that Goldman had in human form. Leave it to Anderson to manage to find a rare creature like this. He was a striking opposite to the nearly jet black coat Zeke had in wolf form. “Morning, Lieutenant.”

At the greeting the wolf Brewster had no doubt was Goldman now made a huffing sound. Brewster had never seen an animal pull off an annoyed look so well. Zeke reached down to pet Myron’s head, but Myron quickly ducked away from the attempted touch with an irritated yip.

Zeke’s laugh was long and loud. “He’s a fiery one, sir. That’s for sure.”

Brewster motioned to Zeke’s bruised face. “I see he gave as good as he got.”

Now Myron made a satisfied yip and tried to nip at Zeke’s fingers. Zeke simply slipped his hands into his pockets. “That he did.”

“Anything you need to tell me?”

Zeke shook his head. “No, sir.”

It never seemed normal for him to address the animals like they were humans, but he had gotten used to it. Brewster looked at Myron and told him, “I requisitioned some uniforms that should fit you.” He noticed that Myron’s ears twitched. Brewster had learned to read some wolf body language and he sighed. “What are you not telling me?” Myron made a low huff and his ears laid flat to his head. Brewster turned back to Zeke. “I thought you said you had nothing to tell me.”

Zeke’s grin grew bigger with amusement. “I don’t, sir. I figured it was my LT’s place to tell you he done got himself stuck.”

Brewster gasped a little. “Stuck?”

Myron had ducked back behind Zeke and hidden himself. “Yes, sir. Stuck. He can’t change back.”

Brewster didn’t even want to think about how he would word that telegram to the General. “Permanently?”

“No.” Zeke shook his head. “He’ll change when he gets it out of his stubborn head that he can.” Zeke huffed under his breath when Myron nipped his ankle. “He’s a biter.”

Brewster pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to hear any of this. Only you could manage to take a complicated situation and make it even more complicated. Goldman!”

Myron peered around from behind Zeke’s legs with his head slightly lowered but still a challenge evident in his stance. Even in wolf form he somehow managed to seem insubordinate.

Brewster pointed at Myron. “You better change right now, or I’ll…”

“Sir,” Zeke interrupted him. Any hint of his previous amusement was gone as his face was darkly serious. “I wouldn’t go threatening him now. That’s just a warning.”

“Does he have rabies?” Brewster asked with heavy sarcasm. He had had too much of this. He was tired and they would all drive him crazy.

“No, sir.” Zeke crouched down and ran his hand from Myron’s muzzle up to his ears. This time Myron allowed the touch and pushed his head against Zeke’s hand. “But he had me ‘n’ I’m far more dangerous.”

Brewster straightened his posture. “You’ve never threatened me before.”

Zeke’s fingers were digging into Myron’s fur. If he had been a cat, Brewster was sure he would be purring. Zeke looked apologetic when he answered, “I’ve never had a mate before. I’m just trying to make you understand. This is a new game for me. I don’t even know what to expect.” Myron head-butted Zeke and licked his hand for a moment. Zeke chuckled and jangled the dog tags that still hung around Myron’s furry neck. “That’s his way of saying he doesn’t like me.”

The rest of the pack had settled back, panting in the morning heat. Brewster saw that the Baker brothers were sitting next to each other, always touching somehow. With their golden hued coats, they were carefully watching the interaction between Brewster and Zeke. He had never been able to tell them apart in human or wolf form. Horn with his brown coat was watching him with his head cocked to the side. Like his harmonica, Horn was always barking and whining offkey. The most common colour among the wolves were grey tones, but Brewster had learned to tell the subtle differences.

Johnson with his shiny charcoal coat was on the perimeter, keeping watch even in the safety of the compound. Ruiz was the runt of the lot, but compactly built in light grey coat. Taylor was sitting next to Ruiz, a medium smutty grey and his tail kept flicking against Ruiz. Percell was big and darker grey, but not as big as the Bakers. Sitting almost apart from the group was Doc with his cream and reddish coloured coat.

If anyone had told him when he would be the commanding officer to a pack of werewolves, Carl Brewster would have had them committed. Life was surreal and he was an adaptable man. It didn’t matter if his men were currently four-legged and furry, they were still waiting for instruction. Zeke might be their pack leader, but Brewster was still their commanding officer.

“In seven days you’ll get your pack evaluation from me considering your newest member. You have until then to settle down and get your heads on straight.” When there was an excited panting, Brewster glared at the Baker brothers and added, “Stay out of the garbage.” Turning his attention to Taylor and Ruiz he continued, “No gambling, no bitching ‘n’ moaning… especially no moaning in public. Keep it to your hootch. No scams. No insubordination. No following the nurses around giving them puppy eyes. Don’t follow them into the showers. No humping. Of the nurse or pack variety in public.” When Myron made a curious whine and looked back at the pair, Brewster chuckled, “Oh, you got yourself a right bunch of misfits, Lieutenant. I’m not done yet.” He turned his attention over to Doc. “No public mischief or destruction or marking of military property.” He turned to Horn and just for his own amusement. “And for the love of God, Horn, I don’t wanna hear any freakin’ harmonica.” When Horn made a whiny yip, Brewster added, “And, no howling offkey, especially at night.”

“No instructions for me, sir?” Zeke asked with amusement evident in his voice.

“Yeah, no more kidnapping lieutenants.”

“Well, that’s a lot to ask, sir. I mean, maybe I didn’t get the right one…” Zeke seemed to consider the command. Myron made an irritated growl and butted his head against Zeke’s leg. Zeke reached down and scratched Myron behind the ear. ”Or, maybe I did. Got it. No more kidnapping stubborn cherry lieutenants.”

Brewster was sure Zeke was going to pay for that comment later if the boy shared the famous Goldman temper with his father. But the smug look on the sergeant’s face more than hinted he was looking forward to his comeuppance. “Get the hell out of my sight, the whole lot of you troublemakers.”

“Yes, sir.”

++++++

“You come out from under that cot right now!” Zeke growled.

Myron kept Zeke’s boot in his mouth and crawled backwards, pressing back against the wall. He cringed at the harshness of the sergeant’s voice. A week ago he wouldn’t take that sort of insubordination from any sergeant. But this wasn’t just any sergeant. This was his new sergeant and lover. Myron refused to acknowledge him as a pack leader because he still didn’t want to think of himself as a werewolf. But it was pretty hard to deny when he was cowering under a cot and locked in an alien furry body, with a boot hanging from his mouth.

Myron watched as Zeke crouched down and lifted up the corner of the cot. He was holding the incriminating evidence in his left hand, shaking the other chewed boot at Myron. “You chewed my goddamn boots!” Zeke grumbled. “My favourite boots. My good boots!”

Myron wanted to yell at Zeke that of course he chewed his goddamn boots. He still had the taste of leather in his mouth. What came out of his muzzle was a low whine. What he couldn’t explain was that he had done it because they smelt like Zeke and he had been pissed off.

Zeke dropped the boot and grabbed Myron by the scruff of the neck, hauling him out from under the cot. Myron dropped the boot in his mouth and wanted to thrash out at the indignity of the situation, but it came out more like squirming. The others might move with silent grace through the bush, but this four legged body made him feel clumsy. He flailed in Zeke’s arms. There was no other way to describe it.

“You’re acting like a goddamn puppy,” Zeke chuckled and unceremoniously dropped Myron onto the floor. “Is this because you think I ignored you?”

Myron glared at Zeke, but it must not have come off as dangerous as he hoped, because Zeke was smiling at him. It wasn’t like he wanted to be around the annoying man.

“I had to see to the men,” Zeke explained. His hand slipped down to scratch the top of Myron’s head.

Myron was going to bite Zeke for daring to touch him, but he tolerated the touch for now. It helped that it felt okay.

“Like that, huh?” Zeke asked and found a sweet spot behind Myron’s ear.

Myron would have blushed if he could have when his back leg started to twitch. It was beyond embarrassing, but it felt so good that Myron tolerated the touch.

“If you would just change back into human form…”

Myron wanted to shout that if he could, he would have. He wanted to call Zeke a series of expletives that would make his ears burn. But lack of human vocal cords and lips made the rant percolating in his mind impossible to voice. This was exactly the reason why he had chewed Zeke’s boots out of pure frustration. It was embarrassing.

“I know… I know. If you could you would. I think your problem is that you’re trying too hard. You just have to let it happen, LT.”

If Myron didn’t know any better, he would swear there was some sort of telepathic link between him and Zeke. But that would be too damn easy. No, Myron knew that for some strange reason, this man was good at reading him. He hated it. Myron had been trying so hard for the past few days to will the change. He wanted to change just so he could kick Anderson’s ass.

He laid his ears back and yipped. If he was human, it would have sounded like, ‘I hate you. I really do. I hate all of this.’ Zeke started scratching Myron’s muzzle again. Irritated, Myron pulled away from the touch with another whine that meant, ‘Don’t touch me.’

Zeke just chuckled. “You know, I should make you sleep on the floor for chewing my boots.”

Myron jumped onto the cot, trying to go for a dignified ‘fuck you Zeke’ sort of sprawl. What he ended up was an awkward sprawl. Being in this unfamiliar body with its long legs and big paws made Myron feel like he was fourteen again. Pretending he meant to land that way, Myron tilted his head to the side and licked his muzzle to say, ‘Yummy boots’.

There was a wide grin on Zeke’s face. Anyone else in the pack would never have gotten away with such behaviour, but Myron seemed to breathe defiance and obstinacy. Zeke loved it. “That’s my cot.”

Myron heaved himself up only enough to circle several times and settle down in a comfortable ball of white wolf fur on Zeke’s pillow. He closed his eyes and tucked his muzzle under his tail. Zeke had told him their first night back to the barracks that he didn’t have an extra cot for Myron, claiming that supply was slow. Myron had refused to spend the night on the floor and started at the end of the bed, but was unsettled with the urge to lick Zeke’s feet. It meant nothing that he had spent every night since being kidnapped sleeping with his kidnapper.

The cot springs groaned in protest when Zeke sat down next to Myron. He started scratching Myron’s fur at the base of his neck again. “When you’re human again, we’re still not getting another cot, LT. If you’d hurry up ‘n’ change, we could get back to doin’ other things, too.”

Myron wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be incentive to change back to human form or not.

Zeke got up, removing his clothes quickly and efficiently folding them. Unlike when Myron changed, Zeke made a fluid and graceful animal. He was a sturdy black wolf where Myron was sinewy. The cot dipped again as Zeke jumped onto it, circling like Myron had until he found a spot he liked. That spot happened to be right beside and pretty much on top of Myron, putting himself between Myron and the door. Zeke nipped the scruff of Myron’s neck lightly, but soon soothed it with a lick. Myron did him a favour by not moving.

++++++

Myron had one more day to figure out how to change back. Trying everything he could think of had just led to a headache. As time passed, living in this new form became easier. He realized how fast he could run and the extra senses would be life saving in the field.

Now he had just settled for getting to know his new pack. It wasn’t unusual for platoons of young men to play football to kill both time and extra energy. The pack version of football was perhaps the strangest and most chaotic version of any game Myron had played. At first he had been hesitant and refused to play. He would never admit it to Zeke, but the instinct to chase the ball had finally gotten him. It had rained the night before and their makeshift field was a pit of mud. Several human forms were dashing around with soldiers who had chosen to play in wolf form. All of them were covered in mud. Myron knew they called it football, but he had quickly learned it was a basically a frenzied game of “keep away”.

Percell in human form had just grabbed the ball from one of the Baker brothers in wolf form. He had it tucked under his arm and was running down the field. Panting heavily, Myron watched as both Bakers tackled Percell down to the mud face first. Taking advantage of the distraction, Myron dashed forward and grabbed the small squishy football in his mouth. With his ears laid back and tail wagging, Myron dashed around the field. Taylor in human form and Ruiz in wolf form almost got him in a tag team action, but Myron dashed between Taylor’s legs. There were no teams, but quick alliances formed in the game, mostly to piss the others off. When Taylor changed back into wolf form to charge after Myron, Horn in human form tackled him. Doc had taken on Ruiz, allowing Myron to escape.

Whizzing around the field and waiting for his next attack, Myron heard Zeke call out, “LT!”

Excitedly, Myron ran towards the sound of Zeke’s voice. His sergeant had been off doing something for Brewster. Myron had secretly wanted him in the game. Keeping his focus on Zeke’s boot and nothing else, Myron ran full tilt. Sliding in the mud, he slipped and tumbled into another ungainly pile. He dropped the football proudly at Zeke’s feet with his tail wagging, fully prepared to grab the hard fought for trophy in a game of chase. When he looked up, he saw something that shocked him.

It shocked him enough that he suddenly changed from a wolf covered into mud to a naked young man covered in mud, wearing nothing but his dog tags. Quickly cupping his hands over his groin, Myron’s voice cracked when he blurted out, “S-sir?”

General Martin Goldman was standing right beside Zeke and Colonel Brewster. He did not looked pleased. “Lieutenant.”

Myron tried to grasp for something intelligent to say. “S-sir…”

Martin shook his head and looked disgusted. “Myron, go put some pants on.”

Myron risked looking at Zeke and saw the man was looking far too pleased, considering the situation. “Change back.”

“What?” Myron blurted out.

“Change back,” Zeke repeated. “Unless you want to walk back to the hootch bare ass naked.”

“I just figured out how to change. I might get stuck again.”

Zeke looks confident. “You won’t.”

Forgetting for one second Myron huffed, focusing on Zeke. And it just slipped into place. Without trying so hard, he willed himself to change into wolf form and he did.

Zeke picked up the ball and tossed it to Doc, yelling out, “Game’s over, boys.”

“Sergeant, you’re with us,” Martin demanded. “I’m sure the lieutenant can figure out how to dress himself and find us in the colonel’s office.”

Myron couldn’t help the nervous whine and Zeke reached down to scratch his head. Before he father could say anything else that made Myron want to kill him, he took off on a run back to the hootch.

When Myron strode into Brewster’s office, his hair was wet and he was wearing a fresh uniform. Zeke moved to stand beside him, shoulders brushing.

“Why are you here?” Myron challenged his father.

Pulling a crumbled piece of paper out of his top pocket, Martin read, “Attention General M. Goldman. Please be advised that your son, Lt. M. Goldman, is a werewolf. In good health. Reassignment pending. Col. C. Brewster.”

With a pointed looked, Myron glared at Brewster. “Nice telegram.”

Brewster didn’t care how pissy either Goldman was going to get. “He had to be informed.”

“I was going to tell him,” Myron insisted.

“How?” Brewster chuckled. “Bark in morse code?”

Zeke put a restraining hand on Myron’s arm and Martin zeroed in on the action. Glaring at Zeke, he said, “I take it there’s more.”

Zeke kept his hand on Myron’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yes, sir.”

Through gritted teeth, Martin sized up Zeke. “And, what concern would that be of yours, Sergeant?”

“He’s part of my pack,” Zeke said. He widened his stance and kept his head high. “He’s my mate.”

Martin stuffed the telegram back in his pocket. “I already know about you. I called in a few favours and found out what you did to my son.”

Zeke shifted closer to Myron. “What nature did to him.”

Brewster knew the signs. Zeke was normally an easy going guy. A deadly soldier, one who didn’t put much credence in rank, but respected it to a certain degree. Usually his body language was relaxed, but Brewster could see the rounded shoulders were set back. But, worst of all, Brewster could see the slight fleck of gold in Zeke’s eyes that had been brought out by the challenge.

“General…” Brewster tried to warn him.

“Colonel, I know how to deal with soldiers.”

“These aren’t normal soldiers, sir,” Brewster reminded him. “You’re testing the sergeant’s restraint by openly challenging him.”

“I’m staying here,” Myron snapped.

Martin ignored Myron’s statement. “There’s a new program being discussed at the Pentagon for your… men with your affliction. There’s discussion of allowing you back onto US soil. You could be stationed at Fort Wainwright outside of Fairbanks.”

A rational part of Zeke’s mind wanted Myron back in safety, even it meant being without him. Then the animal part of him howled at the idea of being denied his mate. He wanted to kill Goldman for even daring to suggest taking Myron.

Before Zeke could act, Myron repeated with a low hiss. “I’m staying.”

“You’re not thinking in your right mind, son. You’re starting to act irrationally like your mother now. You got this from her.”

A quick flash of painful memory put everything into perspective. His mother had always wanted to go to the park and seemed most at ease away from the rush of the city. Sometimes she would just drive randomly into the country and stop, taking Myron for walks to nowhere. She always complained of headaches and not feeling right. The thing in their blood had probably driven her to kill herself, never finding the trigger to change.

Myron slipped his arm around Zeke’s waist, settling his hand on Zeke’s hip. He felt Zeke shiver unconsciously beside him and could smell the surge of desire that warred with Zeke’s rage.

Myron turned to Brewster and asked, “Permission to be dismissed, sir? Pack business.”

Myron’s thumb slipped under the hem of Zeke’s t-shirt to touch the skin there. He was officially the ultimate failure in his father’s eyes. He was a freak of unparalleled magnitude. His mother’s son. Werewolf. Homosexual. And surprisingly Myron felt more settled now in that realisation than he ever had. Being with Zeke was right. Having control over this thing was empowering.

“This isn’t over, Myron,” Martin warned him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Am I and my sergeant dismissed, General?”

Martin was silent for a moment and finally huffed, “Dismissed.”

Myron left the office first, but kept his hand on Zeke, still needing to touch the other man. Outside the office, all of their men were in human form waiting for them. They were still covered in mud and Percell and the Baker brothers didn’t have any shirts on. They were silent, but their eyes were flecked with gold. As Myron and Zeke passed, all of the men snapped salutes.

It was the first time they had showed him this sign of respect. The message was simple. They were there to support their pack. Myron saluted back, feeling for the first time since his mother died that he truly had a family. With Zeke, he simply felt loved.

END.


End file.
